


Bound to Sink

by AlwaysACuteMess



Category: Game Grumps, Skyhill (Band), The Northern Hues (Band)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gossip, New Friendships, Period Piece, Romance, Titanic AU, annoying old women, shitty polite society
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysACuteMess/pseuds/AlwaysACuteMess
Summary: After not intergrating properly with "polite society" your family sends you away to think about your future. You know exactly what you want to do, and you don't care what they have to say about it. Boarding the biggest ship known to man, you know you have seven days to come up with the perfect way to tell them off. This is your only plan- at least until you spy a handsome young man on deck. Then all you can think about is spending time with him. Even if all the old biddies are talking nonstop.





	1. I Saw Him Standing There

**Author's Note:**

> Who does Titanic AUs anymore? In 2017? Twenty years too late, right? Wrong. I do them. Because ... I felt like it. Why else do I do anything? Welcome to whatever THIS is. You are a plucky young lass who just wants to write, even when the world tells you your job is to stay home and make babies. Fuck that, amirite? No, instead you're going to write and... fuck. Because Dan's here. And boy oh boy... I mean.. have you seen him? Have you really? ....enjoy!

The “vacation” was finally at its end. Or coming to a close very shortly, at the least. Seven or so days you had left to contemplate just how you were going to give your family the bad news; this trip to the countryside had only strengthened your ambition, had only made your mind wilder and dreamier. Perhaps, while stuck in your suite, you could write them a letter and drop it off in their postbox and never be seen again. But... they’d be waiting for you at port. That may not do, although slipping in between the crowd seemed like an easy task, what with how many people were standing aside you looking up at the greatest ship ever built.

So they said.

Someone had taken your bags moments ago, a rather polite boy, and you’d tipped as well as you could. He said they’d be ready in your room and off he went up the loading bay. He’d tried to persuade you to give up your handbag as well, but you’d called him absolutely naughty and sent him scampering away without it. It wasn’t as though makeup and hair pins and all that other nonsense were important to you. No. Instead, at the bottom of the bag, were six months worth of manuscripts- two, to be exact. To match a third back home, the first, of course... provided your parents hadn’t found it and burned it at this point. Which may have been more than likely.

Go away, they’d said.  
Go and think about your life. About your family. About your future.  
So away you’d went, not that you’d had any choice. And you had thought about your life. Your family. Your future. Your betrothed that you had no happy heart towards one way or the other, and you were most certain he felt the same of you. You’d thought about all of it while staying at a relative’s relative’s, something-something three times removed. Just someone who would take you far away, that happened to be England in a cottage. It had suited you fine. As had the sound of sheep and other skittish creatures that ran around during the day, and the crickets at night.

You thought about everything. Most of all, how best to let them down. In that time you’d completed two more books. And while they told you there was no way anyone would take you seriously, you thought maybe eventually _somebody_ may. You’d make them. They had to. You’d poured more than enough wit and heart into your writing. Someone would publish it for you. And many other someones would love it. You thought this was the only possibly outcome to your life. Because if it wasn’t... there wasn’t really much left for you at all. You would not resign to marrying a big twit with money. You would not resign to having five children- all boys, he said- and staying home. You wouldn’t.  
You _couldn’t._

So you were not scared of boarding the Titanic. You were not scared of going home. You were not scared of telling your family that you loved them, but they had no honest idea what was good for you. You just wanted it to be over so you could actually begin life. You’d been stalled at twenty-something for years now, all because they forbade you to do anything you wanted to do. Polite society shunned any ideals other than doing what was best ‘for the family’. But you wouldn’t take that. You’d decided that some months back, somewhere in a fog between afternoon and evening, watching dragonflies perch on your windowsill. An idyllic moment to confirm change, you’d thought. It seemed overwhelmingly silly in retrospect, but you still weren’t going back on it.

They’d no doubt call you an ingrate. Tell you just how much money they’d spent to send you across the shore, how much they’d paid out to get someone to take care of you, and really how much they threw at a single parlour suite boarding pass aboard the biggest, newest, most-wonderful-est ship ever made in mankind. But, you thought, you’d just promise to pay them back. When your books started selling, you’d give them double- no, triple!- what they’d spent on this silly old ship. You’d do it because it was the only thing left for you to do. And with that in mind, and first class called, the parade of fancy to-dos walking up the galley planks, you followed suit, blending in with the crowd.

There was only one mission on your voyage home. Stay out of trouble. Stay out of sight. Be quiet and respectful. Maybe write just a little bit more. And really think of a way to break the news to your family. A good way. Not just a parting, disrespectful goodbye. They’d done right by you, mostly, at least as you were growing. That they threw you into what every woman of “class” (so they said...) had to deal with once you were an adult was not really their fault. They were following what came before them, and before even that, you supposed. But you didn’t want any of that. And you didn’t even want to think of having a pretend daughter to do it to, either. You just wanted to be free. But to get there you’d have to first wait in a cabin, albeit a _very_ nice one, for a week’s time.

Not so bad, considering how many years you’d agonized in your bedroom upstate.  
Too many, to be sure.

Once on deck, at the first sign of a crew member, you complained of a headache and asked to be pointed to the first class rooms, letting him look over your ticket for what seemed to be an extensive amount of time. He chuckled abrasively, asking if you’d _really_ like to miss out on bidding farewell to all the people- quite the moment, this one, something for the history books- didn’t you want to see the ship pull out of port? Didn’t you want to wave goodbye?  
No, you insisted, you just wanted to cool off.  
Again, he laughed, with a cold roll of his eyes and murmured something about a poor lady swooning. But at least after his insults he pointed you in the right direction. He also asked if you wanted accompaniment to your cabin, to which you patted his arm with a light chuckle and regurgitated all his nonsense back at him.

Moment in history.  
Wouldn’t miss it for the world, would you?  
Certainly wouldn’t abandon post!

Then you were off, ignoring his grumbles and the stare you could most definitely feel as he watched you take your leave of the deck and find your way to the halls. The room, once you found it, was an acceptable space to house your stay. Too large for one person, and again you were reminded of how much your father was going to groan about wasting money (when you had not asked him to in the slightest). The bed was lush and well made, and the table in the center of the room suggested at least two people were supposed to share the space, if not more than that. No doubt tea was served there among other things. Probably whatever you asked for, considering. But that would be done by the ship’s crew maidens, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think of bothering them.

Despite your hardened bluster up on deck, you took to your little window to watch the festivities on the dock, all the people screaming and shouting their fond farewells. And despite your detachments you found yourself twiddling your fingers to people who couldn’t even see you. Not in warm goodbye, but more like cutting good-riddance. You’d never return to England again as long as you lived. It was grey, but pretty, but also very useless. You were going to take your birth country by storm.

At least you hoped.

You busied yourself unpacking your bags, making sure your clothes were put away in the proper places, shoes tidy in a row, books on the shelves, things where things went. It really made no nevermind to you where they ended up, or even if they had wrinkles on them- people could talk at dinner all they liked, but you needed to do something to keep yourself occupied. Else you’d go over your tenth pass of the second manuscript and rework the ending for the fifth time. And you were convinced now that it was almost as perfect as it was going to get... at least until you read it, and then you were sure you’d cook up something else and labor over that for a few days. Thinking about that, you spied the safe in the room and thought about locking them both up. At least they’d be safe, from highly unlikely perpetrators (burglars? On the Titanic??) as well as your harshest critic.

The whistle sounded, all ten million of them, at least that’s what it sounded like. So loud and annoying you actually covered your ears the second time. Then, finally, you felt the first rumblings of an engine, the first sway of the waves lapping at the sides as the ship cut through them, no longer merely content in its dock. You were on your way, though you knew not truly. The ship had two stops first before departing truly into the open sea. But now you were alone on a massive ship with nothing but time. Time and yourself.

A dangerous duo.  
You knew of a writing parlor on the ship, although you supposed many men would be in there doing whatever it was men pretended to do in a writing parlor. There were supposed to be books there, too, by no means a library- or _the_ library which you were very interested in visiting, but at least a good place to spend some cozy time. You thought briefly about going. There was just no way you’d finish a fourth book before you got home, and you’d need your mind clear and free to face off your final say with your family. So beginning a fresh tale seemed like a foolhardy thing to do. You’d just be half in a world of your own while trying to argue your own case for freedom. Not smart at all.

Enough thinking about that, and pacing back and forth (sitting, getting up to pace again, thinking about locking up the books...), finally you realized you could not spend the entirety of the trip in your room. It was dangerous- but worse than that it was terribly _boring_. The first class part of the ship had many things to do. None of which you wanted to actively participate in, but using them as passing fancies to keep your boredom at bay was good enough.

Out you went. Up on deck with your tiny writing notebook in hand. Not planning to flesh anything big and new out, just... just in case. There were many people milling around, too many, in fact. But most of them were watching the sea, which was to be expected- what seemed out of place was all the jeering and pointing. It was then, approaching one of the mid-bows that you realized the ship had stopped moving. When this had happened you had no idea. Stuck in your room away from your window it all seemed like the same thing. It made you a little wary, not being able to tell sailing from stationary. Perhaps staying in your room at all was more than a bad idea. Kind of like an isolation chamber... what a wonderful torture device for your next book...

Before you could formulate a plot around some stalwartly, plucky young lass being held hostage for government secrets or some such, you watched a group of young men and women, seemingly around your age, though not particularly “your class”, laughing and horsing around with one another. They’d no doubt embarked on this trip together, and eavesdropping from your high vantage point, you could detect no English accents. So they were returning home, you felt safe in assuming. They were all handsome in their own ways, though none more-so than the tallest of their group. Immediately your mind reeled far away...

He was trying to hide quite a mane of beautifully, wildly curly hair under a plain brown newsboy cap, and perhaps also trying to hide quite a lean but sturdy body beneath a pristine (alright, maybe not so, it was a _touch_ wrinkled, but you easily forgave it) white button up shirt, collar loose, first two buttons shamefully undone, giving a peek to a sparse patch of chest hair. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and while you’d been keen to appreciate such long appendages, when his hands raised up to pluck at his black suspenders you were then caught up by just how large they seemed to be- and how long his fingers were. Before your sultry fantasies could take wing, you were thrown by the sound of his laughter- more giggling, to be sure, though you wondered if he’d be keen on such phrasing.

You realized you must have been _some_ daydreaming sight because his eyes had turned to you after being singled out by one of his friends with a point of a finger and he aimed such a charming smile your way that you could feel yourself heat up from the inside out. A romancer, no doubt. No husband, telltale band missing from his ring-finger, though what a shame that really was. Then again, you’d only been gaping at him for a few minutes. What did you really know?

...save that, for sure, the next man in need of saving in one of your future novels would most definitely be heavily based up on him. No doubt, your mind started concocting, he had strings of lovers, maybe one or two artist friends that had done him a disservice in portrait. How could one capture the sweet light of his eyes, or the way his smile made your knees weak?

You felt safe staring. He seemed to reciprocate the thought as he kept smiling- at least it felt like _ages_ , but maybe it was only a few moments. One of his companions tipped his hat off his head and he laughed and played along, running his fingers into his thick curls to give them a good shake. A few of the more _refined_ ladies patrolling about with their parasols up were murmuring about you, completely within earshot. Harlot. Tramp. Who stared at men like that? No one they knew!

But they clearly hadn’t seen him.  
And even if it _was_ true... you didn’t mind being a promiscuous tart at all, so long as your fantasies of him in your bed could continue on interrupted.

However very soon after, that exact thing happened as one of the women shrieked, a gaggle of self-important men and crew members alike all swarming about as she fussed about this and that. Time. Schedule. Something or other- and then a few of the younger children started asking if anyone died. You wondered if this had been the cause of the stop- clearly so, though what could have happened? For a moment you were too frightened to even begin to think of looking over the side of the ship. What would await? -though, you overheard the staff telling the children to be quiet and that no one was hurt.

Your attention diverted back to the man on the deck, now alone, his friends having seemingly scampered off somewhere else. He had his arms poised along the railing, staring off into the distance. Never-ending ocean. You wondered what he was thinking about. An interesting introduction, you thought, and not one done often- or ever, if those stuck-up ladies had anything to say about it. What if, you proposed to yourself- what if you walked right down the stairs and over to him after being caught staring. What if, you introduced yourself. What if you found yourself caught up in a wonderful star-crossed romance with this handsome young rogue?

Yes.. what if...  
Things like that only happened in stories. Maybe a story one day you would write. But not one you would participate in. No... you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend to be confident enough to approach him. To talk about who-knew-what polite society talked about these days and make a new friend. You’d probably only see him now and again in passing, and maybe he was too shy, too. Such a thing just wasn’t _done_. Making acquaintance on a ship- on _this_ ship. No, people had pulled up with their entire family in tow. Fiance and fiancees arm in arm, husbands and wives with their children and nurses even. He himself was with large good company. You were the outcast. You were alone. And you couldn’t just go up to him.

“Eleven! Eleven come back!” The shrill words didn’t make sense as they flung out into the air behind you. And quicker than you could turn around to address this _new_ commotion (so much happening on the S.S. Titanic!), a rather large and heavy animal barreled into the bend of your knees, the force smacking you into the railing you’d been perched near. Your notebook dropped onto the front deck face first, pages crumpling upon landing.

Once you’d gotten your bearings you wheeled around to see a happy, lithe dog, blonde hair styled almost like a woman you used to know, wagging a slim, curled tail. Waiting for... who knew what. Something. Bending down you picked up its leash, waiting for the child who had screamed to come jaunting up in a bit of a huff. You tried to smile politely as you handed the proverbial reins back. “Beautiful dog. Why do you call it Eleven?”

The kid looked up, giving you a most unimpressed dead-eyed stare. “‘Cuz she’s eleventh in her line. **_Idiot_**.” Before your brows could even raise up high enough to display your shock at being spoken to that way by an imp in a little sailor’s outfit, his mother was shrieking (no doubt where he got it from) about manners and this-and-that. Thankfully he turned tail and ran, slender dog in tow.

Said dog, you noted with a grimace as you turned back towards the deck, would be better named ‘Destiny’ or ‘Fate’ or something equally cruel. Perhaps ‘Terrible Plot Device’ you thought- you’d surely never have thought to write something so crass yourself when trying to get two characters to speak- because your handsome daydream lover now had your journal in hand, waving to you as you caught eyes again, aiming a lopsided smile your way. Not as knee-weakening as his previous one, but almost just as good. He walked back to the railing of the ship, as if he really hadn’t had his fill of alone time, or maybe he hadn’t finished his thought and was determined to see it to its end.

Regardless, you were now faced with an uncomfortable decision. But there wasn’t much to think on it. You couldn’t leave your notebook with him. You almost tried to talk yourself out of it, and you were amazed that he just kept on gazing out, not turning back once to see if you were traveling over. Was he that sure you’d come? Or did he just not care one way or the other? You told yourself you were interested in that answer and let it carry you down the steps to the front of the deck, approaching slowly, not sure what the precedent was here. Did you tap him on the shoulder? Call out to him? Wait for him to turn around? Your shoes had sounded nicely on the wood of the floor, surely he knew you were standing there...

Instead when waiting a few moments more furthered nothing, you went to the railing, settling your hands along the metal and taking a similar look out to sea. You tried your hardest not to look at him when you felt him tip his gaze in acknowledgement, trying to appear as cavalier and mysterious as he was. “Do you know what happened?” You found yourself asking, as if you were far more concerned with why the ship was stopped rather than him handing your stuff back. For a moment you were disgusted with yourself. You were gossiping just as the ladies up top had been.

“Oh- uh. I think a little teeny boat challenged the might of the Titanic and promptly lost.” Those giggles returned.

The ridiculousness of such a thing got you to turn your head in his direction, inspecting him closer. Something else that proved dangerous. From up this close you could see that he had a strong, sharp jawline covered in light stubble. And all at once your mind started spitting out image after image of kissing and biting along his jaw and neck... maybe you were nothing but a trollop. Months cooped up in a cottage had not helped that at all, to be certain. “Was anyone hurt?” Trying to keep your mind afloat to current matters.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I hope not.” His voice carried a sweet sincerity, as did his gaze.

You nodded in agreement, looking back at the ocean for a few moments more. Sharing a weirdly amicable silence while the ship stayed in standstill. At least until you broke it. “Can I have my notebook back?”

“Yeah. Of course.” His words were full of laughter as he half turned, his right arm along the railing, his left holding out what you were requesting. “Can I know your name?”

As you curled your fingers around your journal, you met his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask politely?” You didn’t care for such airs, really, and you were sure your grin gave off that impression.

One he was soon mirroring. “You didn’t.”

Tipping your head, giving him a concession on that, you shared a laugh with him before offering your name up as he’d asked. Free of Miss or Ms. and no sign of your surname. He repeated it back, you weren’t sure whether to just get a feel for it or to help himself remember, but you really liked the way his lips formed it, and you really wouldn’t mind hearing him say it a couple more times. “What about you?”

“Daniel. I really prefer Dan, though. Or Danny. Whichever you like better.” He seemed so sweet, and you decided Danny fit him very well.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Danny.”

“Likewise.” Shuffling around, he poised his arms and back to the railing, but kept his head tilted in your favor. You wondered, for a moment, if he was looking at you like you had him. It would be entirely improper but not unexpected. And entirely not unwanted. “So what brings you aboard the Titanic? ...uh- I mean, other than the.. typical.. traveling bit...” His face fell halfway through this, realizing how silly it was to ask such a thing before you could even get to tell him. “Uh.. sorry. I’m... _terrible_ at small talk.” Once again he’d started giggling and immediately you forgave him.

“That’s alright, small talk _is_ terrible.” Really one of the worst things about talking to anyone or meeting new people. It was perhaps why you loathed to do so at every opportunity.

He started nodding, shifting his curls to and fro. “Oh, yeah, absolutely. The worst. But- then- how do I get to know you?”

Coy was not your strong suit. Or any part of you, really. But... perhaps you could adopt a few traits from one of your young heroines. “Would you have suffered through small talk to become acquainted with me?”

“I was trying, but I kind of messed it up.” His eyes went up in a split second of thought before returning his gaze to you. “Let me try again, who are you traveling with?”

“I’m on my own.” You said this with a little turn away of your head, not meaning to come off as haughty, but you realized too late it may have appeared that way. Pampered princess traveling on the greatest ship ever built all by herself in her rich suite. You hated the thought.

Instead of put off, he seemed happily surprised, brows raising. “Really? That’s incredible. You must be one of the few people here traveling by your lonesome.”

You nodded, “That’s probably true.” Exhaled out more melancholy than you meant.

“You’ll get to meet all sorts of neat people, though, I bet. It’s like being on an adventure!” He was very quick to try and amend your sudden downturn in mood. “And- uh, it might be presumptuous of me, but you’re in first class, right? I heard there’s all sorts of really fun stuff to do.”

Being only aware of just a couple of amenities, most notably the ones that had actually mattered to you- like the library-, you looked at him questioningly. “Oh? Like what?”

His eyes went up in thought. “Uh- I think there’s um... I heard they have a pool somewhere. And a tea garden? Though I bet it’s more... tables and chairs set up and some _very_ convincing fake plants. Uh... I think there’s a gymnasium? And a squash court... and a barbershop if you’d like to get your whiskers trimmed.”

Quickly you raised a hand up over your mouth. “Oh no! Has my beard grown in?” You delighted immediately when your joke got him to laugh. It felt like the sun was shining on you. Once the two of you idled out on the sound, though, you looked up at him again. “If you’re not traveling first class, how do you know about all this?” Casting a tiny, but playfully, suspicious look up at him.

Just as planned, or perhaps playing along perfectly, he looked like he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh... weeeelllll... if you promise not to tell those burly crewmen... my friends and I were.. uh.. maybe.. possibly... plotting to see if we could sneak in to all these places?” He looked like the perfect picture of boyish charm. Like a child trying to get his mother to look the other way on a broken vase.

Too cute to reprimand.

You raised a finger to your lips to indicate you’d keep his secrets on the sly and he gave you a grateful, albeit giggly, nod. “I promise not to get you thrown off the ship.”

“Oh- god- yeah, _please_ don’t do that.” Lurching the word about as hard as he possibly could.

“Can’t swim?” Looking at him curiously, perhaps an all too noticeable bat of your eyelashes.

If you had any confidence in your own charms, you’d have thought the slight pause was due to him getting caught up in your eyes. “Uh... oh- no, I can swim. I’m not scared of the ocean itself so much as what’s in it.”

Thinking for only a moment, “Fish?”

His smile was suddenly warm, like he was looking fondly at a lover that had just said something wonderful in bed. “No- uh. Sharks. Big beasts with even bigger pointy-sharp teeth.”

“I know what sharks are.” You said perhaps a little too quickly, testy, too used to men telling you just about everything they could because you were a woman, and women knew nothing. According to everyone else.

Quickly he raised his hands in surrender, looking softly sad. “Oh- god- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to uh... sorry. I think I was trying to make a joke- although sharks are _no_ joke- but just- ugh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were stupid. I’m really sorry.” Genuinely, it seemed.

Many men before him had apologized for a myriad of different things, but he was really the only one you’d ever believed. Maybe it was those big brown puppy-dog eyes doing you in. “That’s alright. I forgive you.”

He breathed a relieved sigh out. “Thanks. For a second there I thought I ruined- uh. This.”

You cast another questioning glance his way. “And what is ‘this’?”

“The- uh- start of... a great friendship?” He sounded unconvinced himself, tone pitching up with each word, brows raising in small increments as well.

Leaving him on the hook for a moment or two, you tilted your head this way and that, humming in thought. You, of course, already knew the answer. But you didn’t want to just leap at the chance to get to know Dan as much as you could. You very much wanted to, of course. More than you could say. And though you’d done more than your fair share of fantasizing about him without knowing a single thing about him, you couldn’t actually let him know how desperate you were. However, he wasn’t asking for anything more than friendship. And he seemed sincere in his intentions. That was a very big shame. But at the same time, you found yourself grateful to get whatever you could get. And a friend on the voyage home was more than what you’d bargained for getting on the ship in the first place.

“I think I can abide by a great friendship.” Telling him this with a little prissy raise of your shoulders and chin, quirk of your lips in a half-smile, and lower of your eyes.

Completely unbeknownst to you, he’d fallen completely smitten. The smile he was aiming your way could have meant anything, but you surmised he was just happy you’d agreed. “Great. I’m really glad.”

You looked out to the vast blue one more time before stepping away from the railing. “It may be a while before we start moving again. Would you like to accompany me to that tea garden you were talking about earlier?”

Fetching his cap out of his pocket, he secured it over his hair, grinning easily at you. “I do love a good cup of tea. Do you.. um... you think they’ll have a problem with me being there? I have uh... a pair of fancy clothes, but that’s supposed to be for dinner...”

Taking his arm in yours, you tugged him to walk alongside you. “I don’t have a problem with you being there. So it’s fine.” At least you weren’t out to take any guff about Dan not being allowed somewhere.

“Oh. Good. Thanks.” He was instantly relieved. “In that case, I’m gonna push my luck and get about five cups of tea and ten pastries. If they have any.”

“It wouldn’t be a good tea garden without some tiny treats on tiny plates, I think.” Already the two of you were giggling with each other, attracting disapproving eyes as you walked along the deck.

“I concur!” He said heartily with a posh, gruff spin. “Tea and tiny treats! The three essential t’s!”

 _Talk_ came quick under usual circumstances whether one was in England or America. Now that everyone was under the banner of the Titanic, a huge ship but small compared to a country, rumors were spreading before you’d even reached your destination. And you decided you were quite fine with that.

They’d have less to be aghast about when you actually _did_ abscond with Dan to your room.  
Which was absolutely what you were planning.


	2. Don't Let Me Down

While you’d surmised that the ship may not move for a while, by the time the two of you had gotten seated in the tea garden, Titanic was off again to seek out her next port. There was just that slight change in the way things felt as she moved again, idly you wondered if it would feel stranger still when she was going full sail, but you’d just have to wait to find out. Dan had been overly polite to the women who were seating everyone and taking orders, and not a single one had eyed him suspiciously as if he had no means to belong in first class with you. Though you wondered if that overt (although accidental, you were beginning to believe) charm of his had anything to do with it. Because some of the men (although not all...) were not swayed by it. Some of the rogue decksmen wandering about in the area were giving him quite a disapproving eye. About the same as the pair of elderly ladies at the farthest table.

As you sat across from your brand new companion, you took even more time to appreciate his form. It really was rather ridiculous how he seemed to be a dashing hero from the pages of some filthy smut rag come to life. Though those books didn’t account for his overall goofiness, which really only added to his attractiveness, for one reason or another. It was hard to get out of your head and stop analyzing, stop seeing the world in words and things you could write down later. But you truly did want to get to know him more. So you asked, as much as he would let you, in between cups of rose and earl grey tea and toast with strawberry jam.

He was a simple boy, born of an immigrant and a school teacher. His father had apparently fallen head over heels in a matter of moments upon first meeting his soon-to-be-wife. Dan was born quickly after, and after that came a little sister as well. As he described himself, you pictured a carefree child with his head in the clouds. He hated studying and only longed for one thing-

“Singing. Music. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.” The warmth he spoke this with curled around your heart. It’s like he’d been given a glimpse of his destiny at an early age. And even when he’d been told no time and time again, he still looked forward to the day that he could fulfill his desire. When asked what he spent his time doing _currently_ , though, “Oh- well.. my friends and I have a troupe- we do live stage comedy shows. Sometimes we travel, but mostly we’ve got a really good spot in New York City.”

“That’s close, isn’t it?” You offered, trying to make the peace he’d no doubt already made with his career path. “Entertainment...” But the soft look of uncertainty on his face made you rethink your choice of words. Had you disappointed him?

“I guess.” He tried to cover his expression with another sip of tea.

It gave you just enough time to try and intervene. “If you’re already on stage, couldn’t you ask your friends if you could take a part of the show for singing your music?”

Lowering his cup, you saw him smiling again. “That’d be really great, but it’s not really what people come for when they’re being marketed on comedy, you know?”

You tried to consider this. He was right, but couldn’t there be an alternative? “What if... what if you sang comedy songs?” Was that something people did? You weren’t sure, but he could surely try.

At that he started grinning. “You’re in my head. I’ve thought about that, too. My friend Brian and I have tried to write a few pieces like that. But we’re really not sure it’ll pan out well.”

“Do it at least once. I bet people will like it. And if not, at least you can’t say you didn’t try. Right?” You’d only known him a short hour, but you wanted nothing but the best for Danny. He seemed like he deserved everything in the world, after being given nothing for quite some time.

He set his hand down on the table, the gesture brushing his fingers along the side of yours. Unable to help yourself at such a bold move, you felt your face heat up, but you kept your eyes on his. He was smiling one of those smiles again. “If we did... would you come to that show?”

“That depends...” Carefully you moved your hand away so you could take a little sip of your drink. His brows raised, waiting for you to continue. “Will you get me tickets?” Your smirk was sly then, only dampening when he started giggling at you.

“Oh, is that how it is? I mean, I _could_ , I guess... but you’re sitting in the lap of luxury. Couldn’t you pay for them? Don’t you want to support me?” He was only teasing, you could tell immediately.

But still, “Of course I do.” Making sure he knew you felt strongly about that, regardless of how silly it may have been in such a short amount of time. “But... once I get home, I may not be able to afford it. For a while.” The reality of your situation had started dawning long before you’d stepped on the ship, but given time to think about it, what you were facing was a touch frightening. “But that’s not important.” Not wanting to weigh him down.

As your hand laid back down on the table, he settled his over, the look in his eyes shifting to friendly concern. “Tell me.” Like he knew you were holding so much in, and he only wanted to shoulder the burden with you.

It seemed almost impossible to deny him anything. A power you wondered if he was well aware of, and if so, how many times he’d used it. For both good and bad. Something in you told you he had no idea. “Well... it’s true that my family is well off. My father owns an investment bank that has been stealing Goldman-Sachs’ customers for quite some time, now.” Something he said only all the time. Proud pompous ass that he was. “They want me to marry- well, obviously.” Something in his eyes dimmed, but you tried to pay it no mind so you could continue on without a hitch. You didn’t want to linger on this story too long. “They picked someone out, a few years back. Tried to make it work- they did, not me. I’m not interested in him.”

Dan started smiling again and tilted his head up. “Ah, not a handsome rogue like myself, huh?” You could tell he was joking, and you wished he wouldn’t. Because he very much _was_ a handsome rogue.

“He’s a burly brute.” Despite yourself and how you liked to pretend you were detached, you glowered.

His hand on yours squeezed just a little. “He hasn’t... laid his hands on you or anything.. has he?”

The immediate concern was warming and you finally turned your hand up, taking hold of his in turn. “No. I think he’s much too scared to ruin our betrothal to do something like that. At least not until after he gets his **_dowry_**.” A tale older than time, and absolutely and completely degrading.

Dan seemed to share the sentiment, brows raising and knitting. “Isn’t that a dated concept?”

“Very much so. And completely insulting, too. But... I think they’d pay anything to anyone with a well enough title in life to trade me off. Put me in chains. Make sure I pop out some babies.” You couldn’t imagine why they wanted this life for you- despite this being the ‘normal’ life of most other women. It wasn’t a happy one, how could it be? And knowing that, how could your family want you to do it?

“Are you running away?” He seemed inspired momentarily by the false concept.

It emboldened your smile. “Not yet. I’m actually returning to them now. But _after_... after I say my goodbyes, I’m going to run. So you see... I may not be able to afford your show...” You looked up from beneath your lashes at him, trying not too hard to play sultry, but it was fun to try out.

“Ah. That makes sense now.” Giving a firm few nods before letting loose a couple of giggles. “In that case, I’ll be happy to get you some show tickets. So long as you write a favorable review.” There seemed to be something sneaky about this.

You squinted your eyes at him. “Write?” You hadn’t told him about your books, so there was no way he could have known that was what you longed to do. You hadn’t said as much, yet, but he was asking you to do it in such a casual way. Like he just _knew_.

“Don’t you?” Tilting his head to the corner of the table where your notebook sat. At that you felt very stupid, having forgot about it until just that moment. The heat swirled back on your cheeks. “I promise I didn’t peek.”

“I believe you.” You withdrew your hand from his, taking the journal off the tabletop and settling it in your lap, like it was a dirty secret you had to hide now.

He was frowning then and it made you feel awful. His fingers curled up into the now empty space ahead of them before he removed his hand from the table and laid it in his lap. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your eyes lifted, meeting his, and the soft somberness you’d created somehow made you feel incredibly guilty. “No...” But there was a pit in your stomach. Like you were being set-up for one big joke. It was hard to get around. He knew you were a writer and had asked for a good review of his show, but what was the punchline? That the spectacle of a terrible review by a _woman_ would draw a crowd? You couldn’t get the voices out of your head. Dan was a sweet man but no doubt a product of the same society you lived in. It may have been best to cut the cord now. “Do you read a lot?”

His lips pressed together before he answered, nervous now for one reason or another. “I try. When I get a chance. I do love books. I love a good story.”

“And how many of those books that you’ve read, in your entire life, were written by a woman?” This was no way to start a friendship, mistrust and being set up for a test he could only fail-

“Well I really like _Pride and Prejudice_ , that’s by Jane Austin- although I’m sure you know. Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_ gives me the shivers, but it was very good. Uh... _Shirley_ is a fantastic novel. I know everyone enjoys Bronte’s _Jane Eyrie_ , but the _Shirley_ really hit me right in my heart. Um... I’m halfway into _The House of Mirth_ by Edith Wharton...”

For a long couple of moments you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You’d asked many people this question before, men and women alike, and none had ever given you a satisfactory answer. Most, in fact, just doubled down on that because they had not read a book by a woman, it was impossible for you to pursue that dream. Women didn’t write- they didn’t write good things, things people cared about.  
So you’d been told.

But there Danny was, sitting across from you, faithfully and honestly recounting his literary life as best as he could. Before you could help it, you felt your eyes welling up and you raised the back of your hand to try and stave the tears threatening to spill from your left eye.

“I- I’m sorry? I don’t know what I did but- please don’t cry...” He had no idea what he was apologizing for, just that he knew he felt awful. Retrieving a white handkerchief from his pocket, he handed it to you.

Dabbing lightly at the corners of your eyes, “You didn’t do anything.” Your position was embarrassing. You’d never been the type to wilt and break under pressure yet a few good novels from Dan had you close to weeping.

“That can’t possibly be true. I said a bunch of stuff and now you’re upset.” He was trying to be jovial, smiling unsurely at you.

“Well... alright. You did do something.” Sniffling, trying to get a hold of yourself, you handed back his cloth.

As he pocketed it again, he began nodding. “See, I knew it. Of course I did something. I’m a big huge idiot, at least if what my friends tell me is true. So I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Whatever it was.” He had no earthly idea but he just knew that he felt poor about it.

Finally you found your smile again. “You did something good. Not idiotic.” And when he seemed disbelieving of this, “No one’s ever had an answer like that before. Usually when I ask I get scoffed at. And told to pipe down.”

“Well I don’t ever want you to shut up, if that helps.” So very easily he got you to giggle with him again.

“Thank you. But... you were correct. I write. And much like you I’ve always been told I’m not allowed. That I can’t do that. That no one wants to read anything I’d ever write. It’s silly. It’s stupid. That’s not a woman’s place.” Sighing out all of these admonishments that you’d heard at least a hundred times.

He took a breath, too. “Well, and excuse my coarse language... _fuck_ that.” A few heads whipped around and you then couldn’t hide the smile glowing on your face. “Seriously. Fuck it. Fuck the fuck out of it.” He no doubt was carrying on because people were murmuring outrages. “If you wanna write, you write. You write everything in your heart. Don’t ever stop. Don’t ever stop trying.”

This time it was you that laid your hand atop his, though your gaze stayed on his eyes. “Promise me you’ll start singing, and I promise I won’t give up writing.”

His other hand clasped over yours, trapping your one between his two. It was a delightful feeling. “I promise. As soon as we get home. I’ll work it into the show. I won’t take no for an answer!” The two of you were laughing again despite the sincerity. You believed him. “And you’ll come to the show, right? And I’ll read all of your books.”

“I will definitely see your show. I promise.” Making sure to honor him in turn. A little bit of wickedness seeped into you, eyes glancing down at the joining of your hands. “Although... singing is something you could do for me in person. And I’d really love to hear a song you wrote.” A _private_ show, the thought was on the tip of your tongue.

“But what shall you trade in return?” He seemed fairly eager to play along.

You could have offered him any number of devilish delights, all involving a romp in your room. But... for the genuineness of the moment.. “I _do_ have a couple manuscripts I worked on while I was in England...” This a much subtler, gentler test.

One that he passed with flying colors as his eyes lit up. “Oh? Really?? Can I- Can I read one? Please? Pretty please?”

No one had read your novels before. Either because there was no interest at all or because you didn’t want anyone looking in on works so close to your heart. Scared people would destroy them. But Danny? “A song for a whole book? I think you’ll have to do better than that...”

His grin was warm and sweet. “I’ll sing to you as much as you’d like for a chance to read one of your books.”

You tilted your head up before nodding once. “It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I have now googled: Tons of crap about the Titanic, and also the history of the common usage of the word "fuck", especially in the context of 'fuck that'. Did you know that dates back pretty freakin' far, but specifically in that use, it was being used by poets in the 1800s (even more specifically, "I don't give a fuck" was big with them)? Well now you do. You're welcome.


End file.
